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When I returned to the condo, no one was home. I grabbed a book and sat in the easy chair facing away from the front door. Jamila returned 15 minutes later. I heard her storing things in the kitchen behind me. I set the book aside and pondered my next words.
She crumpled a plastic bag, tossed it and walked into the living room. I shifted in the chair and she jumped.
“Sam, for God’s sake. I didn’t know you were here.”
“Hi. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”
Jamila moved to the sofa and sank onto it. “Well, guess what?”
I smiled at the irony. So much I could say. This wasn’t the time for sarcasm. Or twenty questions. “What?”
“I’m probably going to be taken off the program. Big surprise!” She threw her hands out.
“Yeah, speaking of which …”
Jamila hadn’t seemed to hear. “Plus my hearing has been moved up to next week. Goody!”
I nodded and murmured, waiting for a break.
She stopped and shook her head. “I’m sorry. This has been the most unbelievable time. Anyway, how was your day?”
I took a breath. “Funny you should ask. For the last few days I’ve been followed by a couple of reporters. I didn’t know they were reporters until today, when they caught up with me. Apparently, they haven’t been able to reach you.”
Jamila looked hurt and a trifle defensive. “You know as well as I that I’m not supposed to talk to the media.”
I paused before answering. “I know that. We need to talk about what the reporter told me about you and your brother.”
Jamila’s face turned sallow. She worked her mouth, but no words came.
I leaned toward her. “Jamila. Please just tell me what happened to Bobby.”
APRIL 1968
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
It was just another Thursday. Jamila walked home from Salisbury Elementary School with Laura, her second-grade classmate. Laura had raven locks, rosy cheeks, and blue eyes and lived down the street. She had the kind of assets that would come in handy later.
At eight years old, neither of the girls thought about that now. They were too focused on more important things, like Rowan and Martin’s Laugh-In, Lost in Space, Bill Cosby’s latest record, the Beatles, and the Monkees.
“My sister gets Tiger Beat magazine,” Laura said, making it sound like a secret sin.
“I wish I had an older sister.” Jamila frowned and felt a stab of envy. All she had was a younger brother. And they barely communicated.
“I can bring the latest issue over tonight.” Laura imparted the information with breathless enthusiasm.
Jamila shrugged. “Okay. C’mon by after dinner.”
Laura jumped up and down, clapping her hands. “Yippee. See you later.”
Jamila watched Laura get smaller as she ran down the street to her house.
Jamila walked in, greeted her mother, and went to her room to do homework. After finishing her homework, she helped with dinner chores—setting the dining room table, stirring the pots, checking the casserole. Her three-year-old brother, Bobby, sat in the living room, watching cartoons. Her father arrived home at quarter to six, looking tired.
“Hard day?” her mother asked.
“You don’t know the half of it.” Jamila’s father tossed his jacket on the sofa and dropped beside it with a grunt. “I’m beginning to think I made a mistake.”
